


Dust and Devils

by Anny_Franny



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternative Universe - Cowboys, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Prostitution, Slow Burn, Spaghetti Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22902382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anny_Franny/pseuds/Anny_Franny
Summary: “So, how many Holy Mary's is gonna be?”“I don't know why you ask for the Holy Mary’s if you never pray.”“Because as a man of the law I have to keep tabs on my debts,” Stark said as he pinned the brooch back on the lapel of his coat, polishing the silver shaped star.“The Lord doesn’t put prayers on the cuff, Sheriff,” Father Rogers said with a deep sigh.----Fic based on the song "Devil's Backbone" by The Civil Wars.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Dust and Devils

**Author's Note:**

> So, let's do it.  
> This is pure self indulgence and based on old wild west movies. That being said, there are a lot of problems during this period of time that I don't feel comfortable dealing with, so I decided not to include this certains aspects in this fic. This is for fun and for that particular scene in Iron Man 3 with Tony dressed as a cowboy.  
> I put the graphic violence tag and I mean it, there will be hangings and gunshots and all the Wild West nonsense. It is also tagged with rape/non con because of prostitution and outlaws being outlaws. So, please, please be safe and don't read it if any of these things can harm you. Also, if you see anything else that might need tagging, please let me know! I'll update the tags as it goes.  
> This note is getting way too big but I need to thank [Fitz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buying_the_space_farm/pseuds/buying_the_space_farm) and [Slen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenbee) for listening about this fic for years between my vanishing acts. I hope you guys like it ;u;  
> Btw, English is not my first language and this wasn't beta'd. There will be weird grammar and expressions. Sorry about that.

To be a man of God in the middle of nowhere in the south of the Rocky Mountains requires a lot of faith, strong will, and discipline.

That’s why Father Rogers has a strict routine. Every day at 4 A.M. he wakes up, he prays, cleans himself and his room up, and then eats breakfast. At 5 A.M. he starts to get the church ready for the first mass and at 5:30 A.M. he goes to the confession booth and waits. Usually, it doesn't take too long for him to hear the sound of footsteps followed by the dull thud of knees hitting the ground.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” a male voice came from the other side of the latticed opening, making the priest stop his own prayers. He lowered his rosary and, without turning his face towards the voice, straightened his posture.

“And what sin have you committed, child?”

There was a long pause followed by a deep sigh.

“I hate it when you call me that,” the man grumbled, letting his hat on the floor so he could glare at the priest, even though they could only see shapes of each other in the darkness. “I’m older than you and you know it.”

“I’m aware,” Father Rogers said as he holds back a smile, moving on his seat, making it creak in the quiet room. “But it’s how things are done. Besides, I would never forgive myself if someone heard your name during your confession.”

“All right, all right, makes sense, I’m sorry,” the confessor grumbled once more, agreeing with him, making Father Rogers sit straight as they both fell into silence. This time, he couldn’t resist and turned his face so he could glance at the other. And just like he expected, he couldn’t see the face behind the confessional veil, but from the shape he could imagine clearly the tired eyes, the messy brown curls flat from being under his hat, the goatee in need of a trim. It was very rare for him to say that Steve was right and from the way the man moved from one knee to the other and hunched his shoulders, he had noticed his slip too.

“It’s the same dream from before,” the man spoke again before Steve could say anything, making Steve turn his face away from the man, to give the other a sense of privacy. “We are in the middle of nowhere,” he said and then he paused again, twisting the lapel of his coat, taking off the silver brooch before he kept going. “There are only the stars above and the wild plains stretching for miles and miles, not a single soul in sight. We are lying on your backs, shoulder to shoulder, he is watching the stars and I’m watching him,” the confession comes in the shape of a longing whisper. “I’m not good at poetry, Father, but his eyes… I could lose myself for days on those eyes,” he sighed and, not wanting to spoil the quiet mood, Father Rogers whispers back as he fiddled with his rosary:

“And then...?”

“I wake up,” the man said with a half hearted shrug, grunting as he slowly gets up on his feet. That was Steve’s sign that the confession was over and they wouldn’t speak of it again, at least not until the next morning. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, it’s only a dream. Plus, he is probably dead by now.” he said as he looked down at his pants, patting the dust off it so he could avoid the priest gaze. “So, how many Holy Mary's is gonna be?”

“Some burdens are too heavy for us to carry alone,” Father Rogers replied gently as he stepped out from the confessionary. “And I don't know why you ask for the Holy Mary’s if you never pray.”

“Because as a man of the law I have to keep tabs on my debts,” the man said, pinning the brooch back on the lapel of his coat, polishing the silver shaped star.

“The Lord doesn’t put prayers on the cuff, Sheriff,” Father Rogers said with a deep sigh, but unable to hold back a fond smile towards the other man. “But is never too late to start believing, Stark.”

“Keep trying to convince me, Rogers, maybe one day I’ll give it a try.” Sheriff Stark said with a soft chuckle that vanished as soon as the Sheriff put on his hat. “Now, back to unpleasant business,” he said as he pulled out a note from his pocket, handing it over to Steve, the priest taking it, lips thinning when he read the blackish letters against the dirty paper.

Outside, the red sun rises like an early warning and the sound of a nail being hit echoed through the church, making Father Rogers closes his eyes. There will be a hanging later that day and there was nothing they could do about it.

* * *

Widow’s Creek is not a big town.

In fact, it could barely be called that. With its wooden buildings scattered in a semi-circular shape, it barely had what every little town in the west could have. If someone came from the south, they would see the mountains from both sides, since the town was located in a valley, the river at their right, shining in a greenish color. As they got closer, they would be able to see the inn on their right, the biggest building in the place. Right beside it was the church, with its tower decorated with a cross on the top. On the left, there were more small houses, the jail and the town hall, all organized around a big old tree.

It was an ugly thing, with branches that twisted and turned up like pale fingers trying to reach the sky, not a single leaf on its twigs and a trunk so large that it needed three big men to go all the way around it. Upon the highest branch a rope was coiled tight around a thick twig, one end tied at the trunk of the tree and the other forming a hanging knot, the string going from right to left to right again, swinging with the wind.

The sun was scalding hot in the blue sky but, nevertheless, a good crowd was gathered around it. It looked like the Circus had come to town with kids running around and the people using their church clothes, the women hiding from the unmerciful sun under delicate umbrellas, the men shielding their eyes with hats and hands. But, instead of silly clowns and magicians, the main event of the evening was sitting on the dirt, his hands bound in front of him, face swollen, lips cracked with dried blood still on them, glaring at the people around him with only one eye, smirk showing his bloody teeth.

“They took all the cattle. I can’t imagine what May is going to do now,” one of the ladies said to her friend beside her, the other woman nodded, trying to refresh herself with her fan.

“Could have been worse,” another person said a little louder, shaking his head, arms crossed. “That ain’t right an old lady living like that, all alone. If it weren't for Pete being at home…”

“Thank heavens they didn’t burn anything,” another voice could be heard from the crowd. “Did you hear what happened in New Mexico? Nasty business… Everything was gone.”

That made the crowd start talking even louder, all the voices mixing up, becoming one muffled noise that only crowds can make, the buzzing making everyone even more wired.

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” a strong voice boomed above all the noise, making the people quiet down. Sheriff Stark waited for everyone to settle before grabbing the man by his shirt, making him stand up, pressing a gun against the man’s ribs, passing the rope around the man’s neck before making him get up on a horse, fixing the rope’s length right after.

“Father.” the Sheriff steps aside, holding the horse's reins.

Father Rogers gets closer to the horse, looking up to the condemned man, holding his bible in one hand, crossing the man with the other, making his prayers before asking the man if he regretted his sins.

His only answer is another bloody smile.

“Vance Merit Pritchett, you are accused of the crimes of disorderly conduct, assault, robbery, horse theft, and murder. For those crimes, you are condemned to death by hanging. Any last words?”

The man only spits on the ground, right on the Sheriff boots, looking right ahead, without dropping his smirk.

“Okay then. Bucky?”

The deputy nods to the Sheriff, slapping the horse. The crowd parts so the animal can run freely, the loud “snap!” of the rope followed by the crack of the man’s neck. All town waits with bated breath, the man’s feet dangling and shaking for a second or two before stopping completely.

The whole town exhales, a minute of silence is made and after Father Rogers makes the last prayer, everyone goes back to their lives as if nothing had happened, leaving to Sheriff Stark and his deputies to clean up the mess.

“Hey Bucky, after here, can you go and check up May and the kid for me?” Stark asked as he loosened up the rope around the trunk, letting the body drop on the ground. “She hadn’t said anything about coming to town today and I don’t think it is a good idea to her be alone after the attack.”

Bucky nods, loosening up the knot around the man’s throat.

“I said to her that Nat has a room prepared for her, she can stay at the inn until she organizes herself,” Bucky said, as he drags the body to the cart, pulling him by his wrists. “But you know how May is. Said that Pete is staying with her and that she doesn’t want to leave the farm alone.”

That makes Stark shake his head.

“Yea, Peter is a good kid but he still has green behind his ears. And it ain’t good for the kid to start to get ideas. He already follows me day and night asking ‘bout when he is going to be a Deputy.” he complained, making Bucky laugh. “It’s not funny Buck. Not when we have so much stuff to do these days.”

“Yeah, you're right,” the Deputy agreed, patting on his clothes to get rid of the dirt. It didn’t work. “The last thing we need right now is that kid getting into trouble. That was the second hanging in less than a month. Last year we had what? Four? Something ain’t right,” Bucky frowns and Stark has to agree with him. In the past few months, there has been a lot of criminals coming and going through their little town and that made the Sheriff really uncomfortable.

“Remember when our biggest problem was Barton’s kids?”, Stark sighs with a small smile, taking off his hat to comb his hair with his fingers. “I miss the days when our biggest problem was those rascals stealing their father’s bow.”

That makes Bucky scowls.

“You said that because it wasn’t you that had to stay in Banner’s house because of an arrow on your arm,” he said before going after the horse that they used as support for the hanging, tying up the reins on the cart so they could bring the dead man to the little cemetery behind the jail. They climbed up on the cart, wanting to get the job done as fast as possible. No one liked the smell of a dead body and under the hot sun it was even worse.

“Oh don’t be such a sore loser,” Stark laughs and then said nothing else for a while, the only noise between them the squeak of the wheels and the stomp of the horse until they get to the cemetery. When they stop by the shallow grave, both Bucky and Stark get off the cart after picking up the body, dropping it in the dirt, not caring for a coffin. It’s not like wood is really expensive or something like that. It was that- Types like these? They didn’t deserve it.

After covering the man with dirt, they put some rocks on top of the grave just to mark the place, and a cross made with sticks by Father Rogers’ orders.

“So, do you want to go to Nat’s drink something?” Buck asked after putting the shovel on the cart, climbing on it. “I bet that Rhodes is already there, that bastard.”

“Hey, he is not a bastard, you are the one who got no luck,” Stark laughs, climbing on the back of the cart, fixing up his hat to hide his eyes from the sun, laying down. “I swear I never saw anyone lose on heads or tails five times in a row.”

“I have luck! I just save it for when I really need it!”

“Yeah, right. You are cursed, Barnes.”

“Oh shut up, Stark.”

* * *

The sun had long gone and the distant sound of music and cheering coming from the inn was the only thing breaking the quiet atmosphere of the chilling night. After the burial he had gone with Bucky to the sallon to drink a shot of whiskey and celebrate another job done with the rest of the men, but after such a tiring day he had said his goodbyes and went back to his house right beside the jail. When he got there he grabbed a bottle of his good whiskey hidden under his bed, sitting on a chair beside the kitchen table, staring at the window without really looking at it with a cigarette between his fingers.

He didn’t know how much time he had spent like that, smoking until his makeshift ashtray was half full and he had run out of cigars. He rubbed his eyes, smoke and sleep making them itch. However, he didn't have the confidence to go to bed, at least not yet. Everytime he had to hang a poor soul, memories came back, making his hand tremble and his throat close.

_It always starts with him in the dark, feeling his shirt wet with blood. The feeling of being in danger was suffocating and no matter how much he ran it seemed like at each step he took the corridor grew a mile. And he ran and ran and ran until someone grabbed him, smashing his back against the wall. He could hear Yinsen’s desperate voice begging him to not stop, shouting his name but he was stuck, a knife against his throat, holding him in place, green eyes glaring at him, filled with hurt and betrayal, and he had to go, he had to run, and he tries to say that, to explain, but before he could speak he is shoved away and there is the gunshot and-_

He shakes his head before he takes another drag, relishing the burn tingling his lungs. He holds up the smoke for a bit before letting it go slowly, shoulders sagging. It helps to relax the tight feeling around his heart but it wasn't enough to make him not jump when the front door opens.

“What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark like a goddamn ghost?” Rhodes asked him soon as he entered the room, staring at him with a frown. He was still wearing his coat, hat on one hand, the other pressing a rag against his forehead. That made Tony look at him again, this time noticing that his clothes were in disarray and there were some dark spots on his shirt.

“Couldn't sleep so I thought I might as well wait for you,” Tony explained as he wiped the cigarette on the can. “What the hell happened?”

Rhodes grunts and pulls up a chair, sitting and then watching Tony go around the kitchen to find them glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

“Barton had too many cups and tried to start a fight. When I tried to grab him he threw a cup at me,” Rhodes said after lowering his hand, showing the cut right above his eyebrow. “Had to put him behind bars for the night. Soon as I dragged his ass to the cell he passed out and started snoring. Bastard.”

“Well, look at the bright side,” Tony said as he put the strong drink in front of Rhodes. “You won’t be there to see it, but you will have your revenge when Laura gets him from jail.”

“Damn right I will,” Rhodes mumbles after drinking his whiskey in one big glump, raising his eyebrows at Tony as he sat at the other side of the table, right in front of Rhodes. “So, are you going to tell me why are you really awake?”

Tony shrugs.

“Just one of those nights, no need to worry about it.” he brushes it off as he kept staring at his cup, swirling the whiskey. “What about our other guest? Did he say something?”

If Rhodes noticed that Tony was avoiding his eyes, he doesn’t comment on it, but he does make a face at the mention of the other prisoner, picking up the bottle to pour another dose for himself.

“He is keeping his mouth shut. Bucky said that he heard him mumbling earlier but when he noticed that he wasn’t alone he got quiet again,” Rhodes leans on the chair, crossing his arms. “Do you have news from Denver?”

Tony nods as he pats his pockets, handing over to Rhodes a telegram. As the deputy reads the short note, Stark picks up his tobacco, rolling a new cigarette, lightning it up and then taking a deep drag.

“They want you to go there?” Rhodey asked as he extended the telegram back to Tony, the Sheriff nodding again.

“I suspect that they want to talk about my request for new men. Bureaucracy or some nonsense like that.”

“I don’t know Tones, can’t you send someone else?”

“I know, I don’t like it either, not with what had been happening in the last couple of months,” Tony said with a sigh, letting go of the smoke as he talked, then taking a sip of his whiskey. “But the thing is, I don’t want to send you or Bucky all the way there only to have you come back empty handed. Besides, it will be only for a week, I trust you two to keep everything in order until I come back.”

Rhodes makes a face at the other, glaring at the telegram that now laid on the table, rubbing his chin, shrugging and then looking at Tony.

“When are you going?”

“Two days from today. I need to prepare for the trip.”

“Did you talk to Bucky about this?”

“I was going to talk about it with you two tomorrow, but,” Tony said with a shrug, slowly twirling his cup, making the whiskey spin around.

“Okay, we talk more about it tomorrow,” Rhodes said as he picked up the bottle and closed it, also taking the cigarette from Tony’s lips and putting it out.

“Hey!”

“Go to sleep Tones, you will need to be rested to cross the mountain and deal with bureaucrats.”

“Fine,” Tony agreed as he got up from his chair, glancing at the window one last time, staring at the stars before turning his back to it. “Night, Rhodey,” he said as he shuffled toward the bedroom, waving when he heard Rhodey’s mumbled “Goodnight.”

He dreamed of green eyes and a cutting smirk.

* * *

Meanwhile, miles and miles away from Widow Creak, a saloon’s door opened up without a sound as a kid, no older than ten, slipped into the room. If anyone noticed him, no one seemed to care as the boy crossed the place with his eyes wide and both of his hands clasped against his chest. He walks around for a few moments, looking around, as if searching for someone. He finally stops by one of the tables at the back where a group of men were playing cards.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Brant?" the kid mumbled with his voice noticeably shaken. The man doesn't raise his eyes from the cards, only humming in acknowledgement, nodding at the question.

"Mr. Colton asked me to give you this." the kid said as he extended a crumpled note to the man.

Brant turned to look at the kid, measuring him from head to toe. The kid does his best to not squirm, holding up the note with fingers gripping the paper so tightly that his knuckles were white, gulping while green eyes seem to search into his soul.

After a long awkward moment, Brant turns to finish his round, grabbing the money he won from the table, ignoring the other players complaining about their game being interrupted. Only then he takes the note, reads it, and then nods to the kid, giving him a coin.

"Tell Mr. Colton that I'm going."

"Yes, sir. He is at the Colibrí, sir," the kid said as soon as he grabbed the coin, turning his back to the man, rushing to the door, not looking back, probably hoping, in vain, to gain another coin for his quick return.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, duty calls," Brant said as he tipped his hat to the other players, leaving the saloon right after. He wasn't as eager as his messenger, but he also knew that if he took too long to get to the Colibrí, the second request for his presence wouldn't be so polite.

He lights up a cigarette as he walks the crowded streets, going further and further into downtown, leaving the main Avenue to navigate the darkest corners of Santa Fe. In this part of the city, no one really looked anyone in the eyes, except for the prostitutes, smiling and catcalling as they exposed their skin in many ways, trying to grab the attention of drunkards and lost tourists that ended up in the wrong place.

Brant pressed forward, his left hand discreetly going to his waist, long fingers tightening around the grip of his pistol, just in case someone got too close. A few more blocks and he stops in front of a large door, its frame made of solid wood. After knocking he waits for a moment before a woman opens it, smiling at him. Unlike the other women he had met on his way there, she is dressed in a proper dress, made of silks and lace, a nice necklace of what looked like pearls around her neck. She is also wearing makeup, not too much, and her hair is combed in a nice bun at the top of her head, with a few strands of it framing her face.

"May I help you, sir?"

"I'm looking for Mr. Colton."

She drops her smile immediately, casting her eyes downwards, stepping aside so he could enter.

Although he had been there before, he always is taken aback by the beauty of the Colibri. Luxurious furniture tastefully placed, soft carpets, paintings hanging on the walls. And the girls, like little birds in a golden cage, dressed in finery as they talk with their clients. He could hear soft laughter and conversations, the feminine perfumes in the air making his nose tingle.

"This way, please," the girl who opened the door for him said as she turned her back to the main room to climb the stairs to the second floor, not waiting to see if she was being followed or not. After one last look to the room he went after her, looking around as soon as they reached the second floor. The top of the stairs ended up in a long corridor with many doors on each side of it. Brant could hear laughter here as well, mixing up with moans of pleasure.

They walk straightforwardly, stopping in front of the last door at the end of the corridor. The woman knocks on the door and then, after nodding towards Brant, leaves right after.

"Come in," a man ordered, his voice muffled through the door. Brant opened it, green eyes scanning the room before stopping by the man on the bed. He was putting his boots on, his pants already on, thank God. Besides him, Brant could see one of the girls of the brothel, eyes puffed and red as she gathered her clothes as fast as she could.

"Leave us," Colton said to the girl.

"But I still have to get dressed-"

"I told you to leave," Colton said, not even looking at her. The girl just nods and, with teary eyes leaves the room, closing the door right behind her.

"Well, that was unnecessary rude."

"That's not your business."

"Suit yourself." Brant said with a shrug, walking around the room, taking care to never turn his back to the other man. "How did you find me?"

"I must confess, you ain't an easy man to find, Mr. Brant," Colton said with a chuckle, his tiny black eyes looking at Brant’s, as if his glare could put a hole in his skull. “T’was a smart thing to change your name. But I think Rattlesnake suits you better.”

“I don’t care for what you think it suits me or not, Colton, you still haven’t answered my question, how did you find me?”

“Feisty, feisty,” Colton said as he got up from the bed, buttoning up his shirt slowly as he approached Brant. "Ain’t gonna lie, I had to call some favours, even spend some coin."

"Still doesn't answer my question."

"I don't give a fuck about your questions," the man snapped and then spat on the chamber-pot beside the bed. "I have a job for you."

"My debt with Maw was paid long ago-"

"Your debt is paid when the boss says is paid," Colton interrupted him as he buckled his belt, patting his guns at his hips with a smile filled with sharp rotten teeth. "But who knows, this guy is a big fish, maybe if you do it right and quick the boss will let you go."

Brant doesn't even bother with an answer and just extends his hand so Colton could give him the message. The man pats the pockets of his jacket, mumbling curses until he seems to find what he was looking for, handing an envelope to Brant.

"You're gonna find all the information you need there. Also, the boss wanted me to tell you that the guy is going to be in Denver in three days."

"But Denver is a week of travel," Brant said slowly, as if not believing what Colton was saying. However, Colton didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that the job was already compromised. In fact, now that Brant was thinking, he might have done it on purpose, holding back the information, just to see him struggle.

"I don't give a fuck, I did my part, how you're gonna do it is not my business. Believe me, Rattlesnake," Colton paused stare at Brant, his stoned expression sending a spike of fear through Brant’s heart, the feeling so intense that he had to close his hand to not grab his gun. "You don't want to make this my business." And with a final nod, Colton put his hat on, leaving the room with a last shout. "Denver, three days!"

Brant bites down his wish to shout a "fuck you" to the other man, waiting just enough for Colton leave the place before going as well.

He had to get a horse.

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't know how I'm feeling about this, but if I don't post it now I think I never will. And I promised myself that this year I'll write and post my stuff.  
> I can't promise regular updates, sorry about that, but I'm gonna finish this. I have to. I won't forgive myself if I don't write it.   
> Anyway, yea, so, I hope you guys enjoy it! Saddle your horses, partners, this is going to be a wild ride


End file.
